I Hate Myself For Losing You
by Sullen Sphinx
Summary: A sad morning in the life of Ronald Weasley. A songfic to I Hate Myself For Losing You by Kelly Clarkson


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or this song by Kelly Clarkson, which is called "I Hate Myself For Losing You".

_I woke up today_

_Woke up wide awake_

_In an empty bed_

The night was still and slowly dying and the sheets on the bed were threadbare and wrinkled. The old, beaten quilt was tousled and pushed to the end of the bed. The air was chilly and all that was covering the snoring redhead was the sheet. He was shivering but only slightly and the fact the only clothing he wore where his orange, cotton boxers, didn't help either. This was one of many nights of this sort. He couldn't hear anything but the sound of his own breath and the rustle of sheets as he moved around. Warmth was now a limited necessity, well physical warmth, that is. The spot next to him had been empty for quite a while now. The place next to him had no mold of another body anymore. It was wrinkled from his tossing and turning.

_Staring at an empty room_

_I have myself to blame_

_For the state I'm in today_

The sun was starting to rise and through the horizontal blinds, a few sunny strips of light were peeking in. Ronald rolled over, grabbing the pillow and covering his face with it. It was a bit too early for him, but he knew he had to wake up. He really didn't see a reason to wake up in the morning. He used to have someone to wake up to, but that was long ago when he wasn't such a great big git.

Ron continued to smother the pillow gently into his face, grunting at the small slits of light that he could see in the corner of his eyes. Moments later, Ron threw his pillow violently in a direction he did not now. A second later, he heard a violet crash and shatter. This made him jump and he sat up in bed looking to the side of the bed. There, on the floor, was a vase that was shattered to pieces.

_And now dying_

_Doesn't seem so cruel_

_And oh, I don't know what to say_

_And I don't know anyway_

_Anymore_

Ron groaned and nodded once. "Good. I hated that vase anyway," he said angrily, his knuckles almost snow white. It happened to be a vase that Hermione picked out for their first apartment together. Somehow, it had gotten into his old stuff and he set it up when he first moved in. He was still moping around over her, even though she had…found _someone else_.

For months, he couldn't accept it. It was hell for him. He still missed her so much, but he was mad at her. He didn't even have a reason as to why. He just did. He maneuvered himself over to the end of the double bed, not wanting to step on the shattered porcelain. He stood there, boxer-clad and crestfallen. Now, he was going to have to clean it up, get showered and go to work. Maybe, he could play hooky. No, he couldn't he did that once last week. He'd just have to take it like a man today. No buts.

_I hate myself for losing you_

_I'm seeing it all so clear_

_I hate myself for losing you_

_What do you do when you look in the mirror_

_And staring at you is why he's not here_

Ron got off the bed, feeling the slick hardwood underneath his feet. As he started to the door to his room, he yawned loudly, shaking his head, and hoping that it would awaken him. There was no such luck but he continued down the hallway to the storage closet where he kept the broom and dustpan. Lately, he had been doing things the muggle way. His sister, Ginny, told him that it was a sign of his grief of Hermione leaving. Ronald just snapped in denial her, but deep down, Ronald sort of agreed with her, but he would never tell her that to her face, fearing future mock and embarrassment. He decided to keep this little tidbit to himself, saving himself his dignity, if he had actually had any left to save.

_You got what you deserved_

_Hope you're happy now _

_'Cause everytime I think of her with you_

_It's killing me_

He could picture himself strangling the man that stole his wife and true love away from him. He could just see his victims' eyes popping out of his head as his air supply was being cut off completely. He enjoyed this thought very much but he also decided to keep this to himself. He wanted to kill Draco Malfoy with all the strength within himself. He captured his wife's heart, stole, and stowed it away for safekeeping. This only made her run to him, looking for it.

He could feel his knuckles turn white again as he slowly opened the storage room door. He didn't dare step in, in case of the event that he get a splinter. He leaned over, grabbing the broom and dustpan from the storage room floor. "At least you guys are still here," he said. Suddenly, he realized how lame he was, talking to his household cleaning utensils. He decided to stop then and there, not wanting to scare himself even more.

_Inside, and Now I dread each day_

_Knowing that I can't be saved _

_From the loneliness_

_Of living without you_

_And, oh I don't know what to do_

_Not sure that I'll pull through_

_I wish you knew_

Ron closed the storage room door behind him with an accidental loud slamming. He cringed at the climax of the slam and stood there for a moment. Then he continued on his way back to his bedroom. Shuffling across the hardwood floor, Ron quickly made it back to his room. He set foot into him room and immediately started to sweep up the broken porcelain. When he got a dustpan full of porcelain, he threw it away in a nearby wastebasket.

He repeated this task until every little piece he could see was gone and in the trash can. By the time he finished it was time for him to take a shower if he was going to make to work today, even though he didn't want to go at all. There was no way in hell that he wanted to go, but there was a way in hell that he had to and that was pretty much set in stone.

_I hate myself for losing you_

_I'm seeing it all so clear_

_I hate myself for losing you_

_What do you do when you look in the mirror_

_And staring at you is why he's not here_

Ron brushed his hands off and made his way to the bathroom that was connected to his bedroom. He entered the bathroom, feeling the difference in floor types almost immediately. The floor was tile and it was very cold. His toes curled a bit at the feeling of it. He sighed as he walked over to the shower, turned it on, and closed the shower door, waiting for it to heat up. In the process of waiting he pulled down his orange, cotton boxers and irritably kicked them across the floor. In a few moments, he decided to get in. As he stepped in, he felt the hot, running water against his skin. It felt really good and Ron almost felt a smile form across his face, but it was just his imagination, playing with his mind. There was no smile there. There hadn't been one there for over six months now.

_I hate myself for losing you_

_(I'm seeing it all so clear)_

_I'm seeing it all so clear_

_I hate myself for losing you_

_What do you do when you look in the mirror_

_And staring at you is why he's not here_

He continued to shampoo his hair and bathe himself in the hot water, until it started to turn cold. At that moment, he knew he was late for work and he better start moving. He stood in the shower for another minute and then he turned off the shower. He stepped out and grabbed a towel from the rack on the wall. He wrapped it around himself. He dried himself off slowly, staring at himself in the mirror. He sneered at his reflection and his reflection stuck his tongue out back at him. As he left the bathroom, he rolled his eyes pertaining to his reflection. He walked to his wardrobe and opened it carelessly. He grabbed and oxford shirt and a nice pair of pants. He slowly put them on and then his socks and shoes. He ran his hand through his wet hair as he walked out of his bedroom.

_What do you say when everything you said_

_Is the reason why he left you in the end?_

_How do you cry when every tear you shed_

_Won't ever bring him back again_

He walked into the kitchen, looking for everything needed, which included his briefcase, coat, and his cold, day-old coffee. He was never very good at making it. He could warm it up later with his wand. Now, he needed to get to work, despite how he dreaded today, dreaded everyday actually. He grabbed his coat and briefcase, his wand, and his cold, day-old coffee. He was on his way to work. He walked to his door but never opened it and exited. Instead, he just apparated, leaving the shattered memories of his marriage in the wastebasket.

_I hate myself for loving you._


End file.
